The Parkinson Heiress
by Claykalin
Summary: A twenty-four year old Pansy writes of her childhood and years at Hogwarts. From fights behind doors and a poor start at Hogwarts, to fun games with friends and an alias to change everything, here lies the true story of one of Slytherin's most well known members as she writes her war story chapter by chapter for the Quibbler. T for violence, swearing, etc.
1. Chapter 1 - Newspapers and Protagonists

**Chapter One: Newspapers and Protagonists**

_**A/N: **Hi there! Welcome to another war story, a journal of sorts by Pansy Parkinson covering her life up until "she" writes this at twenty-four years old._

_If you've read another of my stories "Lucifer's Curse" you may recognise my Pansy (probably not as there's only two chapters published so far but meh). This one and the other one are the same character, just in this one there is no new students, and obviously this is Pansy's story not Draco's._

_If you're interested in betaing this story please send me a message, I'd really like someone to read through and check for tense in case I switch off of past tense, and also just someone to throw ideas at and discuss stuffs :)_

_Um... yeah. Enjoy :)_

_**Disclaimer:** The following story is based on the excellent works of J.K. Rowling, they are not mine. Not including the characters you don't recognise, which are mine._

_**Also**: Being Australian, I may have a few spelling variations to what you may or may not be used to, just skim over them and try not to let them get to you. But let me know if you think there's something wrong :)_

...

The Quibbler

Monday the Twelfth of April, the year Two Thousand and Four.

Excerpt from page two. Author: Pansy Parkinson. Editor: Rolf Scamander.

...

Hello. My name is Pansy Parkinson. I am 24 years old. Most of you reading this will think you know who I am. But you don't know who I am. I am here to tell you who I am.

A few years ago, after the war had finished, Mr. Harry Potter sold his story to the Quibbler. Some of you will have already forgotten, but back then the Quibbler was an underground news magazine full of silly stories and conspiracies, with the occasional true story hidden beneath. In those times, we turned to the Daily Prophet for real news.

In accordance with my childhood upbringing and family responsibilities, I never touched anything other than the Prophet, especially not the Quibbler. Therefore, I did not find out about his tell-all story until two days later, when the Prophet was given the Okay to print the events Potter had described, using only exact quotes from the Quibbler, with no other input or opinions, and full credit to be given to the Quibbler and Mr. Dean Thomas, the stories' writer.

Not a week after this public declaration of events, Mr. Ronald Weasley came out with his own version of events, linking in with Mr. Potter's and adding a bit more when the two parted ways at various points during their journey. He, too, first published with the Quibbler, although this time he used Mr. Neville Longbottom's help and wrote his own story. Once again, I found out two days later when it appeared in the Prophet.

It was at about that point when I realized I was missing a lot of current news, as the new Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and many war heroes, not to mention the general wizarding public, no longer trusted or even read the Daily Prophet. I was one of a fairly small group of War-time, pureblood, mostly old, wizards and witches who still read it. As such, the Prophet itself became very biased and not a lot of real news reached my ears first hand. I decided to find a second source of information, and my hunt began in none other than Diagon Alley.

I came across many papers in my search, such as Witch Weekly (full of potion ointments, rubbish and mostly incorrect gossip regarding the who's who of the time), Ministry News (a somewhat interesting read, although contained very strictly-worded updates on international relations, changes in Laws, and so forth. I did subscribe, but it did not quench my thirst for knowledge) and the London Herald (a small newspaper business run in London which strove to be informative on real news, but due to a lack of funding was rarely the first source of news, nor did it have the best writers. In fact, so deep were their money problems that between June and September of 2003, they stopped using the potions and spells required of a magical newspaper. It was strange reading a Muggle-style newspaper, and whilst I did somewhat get used to it, I was glad when an anonymous beneficiary donated a generous sum of money, and they retook their original format, moving headlines, pictures and all).

By October of 2002, I had subscriptions for both Ministry News and the London Herald. They were delivered right to my door after an incident in August involving a curse cast in my direction at the Leaky Cauldron one morning. They were both very informative, but I couldn't help but feel like I was missing something.

In about a week before Halloween, I found myself back in Diagon Alley, requesting a private conversation with Florean Fortescue. Whilst I doubt he was ever a scholar, he is, after all, our local ice-cream vendor, and I found him to be a nice, patient man, with a willing ear to listen should the need arise.

I should point out that by this time, further 'war biographies' had been released, detailing the firsthand account of Miss Hermione Granger, Mr. Seamus Finnigan, the Quibbler writer Mr. Thomas, Mr. Neville Longbottom and his wife Mrs. Hannah Longbottom nee Abbott, Mr. William 'Bill' Weasley and his wife Mrs. Fleur Weasley nee Delacour, as well as his father Mr. Arthur Weasley, and even one from an old friend of mine, Mr. Draco Malfoy. There were many more already released, and yet-to-be released, but I fear this list of names has already begun to bore you, so I shall continue.

At 10 o'clock by the Grandfather Clock I keep in my study, I flooed to The Leaky Cauldron, and made my way to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. I was slightly nervous, having refrained from travelling to the small pub since the aforementioned 'incident', and had accordingly spelled my hair to a soft, auburn colour with a shoulder-length cut, and made myself about four inches shorter.

At the ice-creamery, I requested a word with Mr. Fortescue, and he obligingly led me upstairs to a private bar area that was empty at the time. You may have heard of it, as it holds very loud, late, parties every Thursday and Saturday night.

I spoke to him of my feelings regarding being left out of the current world, having few friends and contacts outside of my few remaining family, and he just smiled at me. We were sitting at a table, and he leaned forward and took both my hands in his.

"My dear," He said softly, "You are only as left out as you let yourself be. I haven't seen you here in such a long time, unless you have been using a wide variety of disguises like the one you currently hide behind."

I looked down shamefully as a tear rolled down my cheek, but he gave a cheeky laugh and wiped it away.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered, "Everyone hates me. I have no friends, and I never know when the stranger sitting next to me is a hate-filled muggleborn who wants to kill me."

"Not everyone hates you, my dear, for here I sit and here I listen."

"But –"

"If you are so good at these disguises, why not make an alias of yourself and integrate once again? I'll tell you what; there is a formal event in two days time. Right here in this room. Why don't you come along? I'm trying to get this room up and running, it's been sitting here gathering dust for centuries. Many of your Hogwarts acquaintances will be in attendance, for it is thanks to Harry that anyone is coming at all."

"Are you sure? They'll notice a stranger in their midst. Those kids were all so close and friendly with each other, surely they'll pick up on me there, even if I don't look like myself."

"A number of guests are arriving by my invitation, not Harry's. This is my invitation to you."

"Are you –?"

"I expect to see you at six o'clock sharp, and you can attend the dinner as well. Molly Weasley and her daughter were kind enough to offer their cooking skills to the night."

And that was it. There was no question; I was going to that dinner. I had a small break down when I arrived back at my home, but it was short and I moved on quickly. I found a nice floor-length, midnight blue dress with a few jewels in the bust, but otherwise plain enough to not scream "Pureblood Heiress".

My only real problem was my name. I was not going as Pansy Parkinson. I fabricated a simple enough back story: I was raised by my half-blood mother and muggle father in various towns across England. We moved around a lot, for my father was a suspicious man, and took my mother's warnings of "pureblood fanatics" very seriously. I was homeschooled, though I had met Dumbledore three times, when he came to visit us and see how my wizarding education was coming along, and if I had changed my mind and wanted to go to Hogwarts.

That was where my imagination halted. I could not, for the life of me; come up with a name that I thought was plain enough to not attract attention, but interesting enough to not be obviously fictional. Somehow, I came up with the thought of finding a Muggle bookshop, and picking up a book selected at random and stealing the protagonist's identity.

The book I found was entitled "The Secret Countess" and it jumped out at me from within the shelves and shelves of colour and pages. I did not like the name of the author enough to use it for myself, so turned to find a characters' name.

I read through the description on the back, but could not find a full name. I had to open the book. When I did, I found I immediately fell in love with the few short pages I read, and was overcome with a feeling of ownership over this book. Not being one who carries Muggle money, I ended up leaving a necklace I had in my possession. It was not a family heirloom, merely a trinket I once found in a market, but its value exceeded twenty galleons and so, hoping it would cover the cost of a book, I left it beside a Muggle contraption that the store-keeper used to hold his money whilst his back was turned.

From henceforth, my name was Anna Grazinsky. I shall give you a moment to absorb this information, as you may have come across myself hiding behind this name. It has taken me to many places outside of the thoughts I'd held when I first hid behind it.

I knew Grazinsky was not a good English surname, but I fabricated another story to protect it. My father and his family fled war-torn Russia when he was a boy, and met my mother whilst she was on a wizarding assignment to aid witches and wizards stuck in the crossfire that was Eastern Europe. They married soon after the ending of the war, and moved to England. My mother told my father about magic when I was six years old and she realised she would not be able to hide it from him any longer.

I grew up in the outskirts of London, though whilst studying for my NEWTs with the Ministry my parents drove to Manchester to visit some cousins of my father. They were both killed in a car accident. I have been on my own since then, and working as a waiter in a Muggle café to support myself. I do have an inheritance waiting for me in Gringotts, but until now wanted little to do with the magical community.

For the physical appearance of my new alias, I chose long, dark-brown hair, thick with seemingly natural waves. I didn't bother with changing my skin or height, on the off chance the disguise would be used frequently, which it has been, and height-altering spells and skin colour potions can be extremely time consuming.

The dinner itself, I shall not bore you with the details of, as it was described in several papers and on many more radio networks. I even found my disguise occupying a section of Witch Weekly, listed as number three on a top ten list of best dressed at the party. I shudder to think where I would have been were I still Pansy Parkinson, but enjoyed the mention nonetheless.

Through the course of the evening, I managed friendly though somewhat dull conversations with several other patrons. Most notably, Miss Granger herself. She was intrigued by my story and horrified by the ordeals and hardships my fictional father went through, and delightedly told me of how things like that would never be allowed to happen again.

I left the dinner, having thoroughly enjoyed myself, and surprisingly with a request of my presence for lunch tomorrow with Miss Granger and her soon-to-be sister-in-laws Mrs. Ginevra Potter nee Weasley and Mrs. Fleur Weasley nee Delacour. Miss Granger's wedding was to be in February, just under four months away, and she and her bridesmaids were going to lunch at a prospective reception venue. I was invited after Miss Granger accurately picked up on my lack of friends.

Florean saw me on my way out, though I had come to introduce myself to him prior to the arrival of most of the guests. He congratulated me on a nice evening out, and on securing a fragile group of friends.

...

Please send thoughts to the Quibbler Office in Diagon Alley, all owl post to be directed through the third floor window.

All Howler's merit reply. Consider yourselves warned.

The views expressed throughout this article are the views of the author and not necessarily those of the Quibbler itself.

Pansy Parkinson's tell-all story will continue in next Monday's Quibbler.

Until then; don't forget to spell your teeth!

...

_**A/N:** Tada! Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you thought with a magical review!_

_Also (if you're curious) the book "The Secret Countess" is a real book by Eva Ibbotson, it's also published as "A Countess Below Stairs". I highly recommend it, you can google it to find out what it's all about._

_Have a nice day / morning / evening / ungodlyhourofthenight :)_


	2. Chapter 2 - Dinners and Journalists

**Chapter Two: Dinners and Journalists**

_**A/N: **Hi there! Welcome to chapter two!_

_Still looking for a beta... if anyone wants to... no? okay..._

_And thanks so much to the two new followers, I hope you're liking the story so far!_

_(I'm sorry, but it's a very nice boost when people appreciate the effort you go to in your writing...)_

_Enjoy :)_

_**Disclaimer:** The following story is based on the excellent works of J.K. Rowling, they are not mine. Not including the characters you don't recognise, which are mine._

_..._

The Quibbler

Monday the Nineteenth of April, the year Two Thousand and Four.

Excerpt from page three. Author: Pansy Parkinson. Editor: Rolf Scamander.

...

The following morning I woke up, for the first time in a very long time, feeling happy. Not excited, ambitious, or expectant. Just happy. It was wonderful.

I was unsure of the dress code for the luncheon, but decided to go with a soft green, summer dress, that was strapless and fell lightly to my knees. It had a white ribbon to wrap around my waist which I promptly spelled instead of any meagre attempts at tying the bow myself. I tied my long hair in a ponytail, leaving a few curly strands out to frame my face.

I may seem to be too focused on what I'm wearing during these moments, but I find they reflect my attitude at the time, so I hope they don't frustrate you too much.

I thought I looked pretty, and happily made my way to Diagon Alley, where our agreed meeting place was Gringotts at 11 o'clock. Miss Granger was there to apparate us to an undisclosed location, which ended up being a Muggle venue just outside of Central London.

I thought it was a bit tacky, but I suppose that's rich coming from someone like me, raised in a wealthy family with nothing but the purest silver to use as cutlery, and house-elves to cook and serve us for dinner.

I'm beginning to see why others hired writers to help them with this, but I will stick through it. I mustn't keep straying off the thought I begin writing with.

Now then, I attended a number of dinners and lunches with the three girls, and met their husbands, or in Miss Grangers' case fiancé, as well as Mrs. Weasley's daughter Victoire, and their adopted son Theodore, whom everyone called Teddy. I don't think young Theodore actually did have adoptive parents, merely his Grandmother, a distant aunt of mine, and plenty of friendly volunteers within the Weasley family.

At the same time, I kept up my news subscriptions, and even signed up to Witch Weekly after seeing myself and Miss Granger on the front page one morning. I was not in any way challenged in my alias until mid-December, when Mrs. Potter tried to show me an article from the Quibbler. I do not even know what she was trying to show me, only that I pushed it away as soon as she held it out.

I think it was simply instinct for me at that point. My father, my real father, was a cruel man, and my mother, whilst a lovely woman, was eventually beaten into submission by said cruel being. However, he worked hard to instill hate within me towards muggles, 'mudbloods', half-bloods even, 'half-breed things', and anything that was not approved by or that was contradictory to the Pureblood Mantra he lived and breathed.

I must have vocalised disgust, for she looked at me with her eyebrows raised. I tried to apologise, and reach for the magazine, but something held my arm back as I did so. Perhaps it was my father, from beyond the grave, still keeping me in-line. In the end, I voiced a sincere amount of 'sorry' and 'my mistake' and disapparated from her house in shame.

I received an owl the next day from Mrs Potter, containing the notification of a dinner with her husband and his Muggle cousin. She ended with a request of an explanation of my earlier actions.

At that point, I was thoroughly enjoying having friends, and so, not wanting to lose what I'd had for so little time, prepared myself for the evening with much haste.

As it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Potter had purchased a quaint, two-storey house in Godric's Hollow, not far from the town church, which was the apparition point. What I did not know until I arrived was that I was not the only guest for the evening.

Also in attendance was Mr. Potter's two friends Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Seamus Finnigan (a man who had dropped off the public eye's notice whilst travelling the America's with his Muggle wife, a woman he met whilst hiding from Snatchers during the Christmas break before the Battle of Hogwarts) and, to my horror, Mr. Malfoy.

He had brought along a date, too: Miss Astoria Greengrass. I knew her sister, Miss Daphne Greengrass, quite well, but she was unfortunately not to make an appearance that night. Or should I say fortunately, for it would have been hard to keep my disguise around my best friend from school.

The dinner went quite well, though at first it was strange to be casually eating dinner with a group of people I once knew as scum, not to mention the Muggle relation of Mr. Potter. I found myself, for most of the evening, talking to Miss Greengrass, who was in positive thoughts of a marriage between herself and Mr. Malfoy.

Inside, I may have died a little, for I did once love him and hope to have a future with him, but on the outside I was merely congratulatory. I think my disinterest was more interpreted to the fact that I, or my alias, did not know the two very well, so could be excused personal interest in the matter.

Mrs. Potter never did question my behaviour of the previous day and, having not come up with a decent explanation myself, I did not seek out the conversation with her.

It was at this point that my two stories finally link together. You must have been wondering where I was going with all this, but there was a point to it all, I promise.

The evenings' major topic was me. Not Anna, but Pansy. Mr. Malfoy brought my identity up first, speaking of my sudden disappearance. Apparently, though I had not noticed, he had been checking on my house whilst I was asleep or away, and talked to my house-elves to see how I was. He had also followed me on my ventures out of the house, though only when I didn't use a disguise.

He mentioned not having seen me in some time, and that he was worried I might have done something I'll regret. He asked Miss Greengrass to pass on his concerns to her sister, to see if she would care to visit my home and check on me.

Mr Weasley took the opportunity to mention that Mr. Thomas was also seeking out any class members from Hogwarts that were yet to release a public statement of their events during school and, more interestingly, the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. Apparently, many reporters were after myself and Miss Tracey Davis, as we were the only two living Slytherins of our year who were yet to release our stories.

Miss Greengrass had done so, though it revealed very little into her thoughts and merely reported facts. It was quite disappointing to see her writing saying only that we got what we deserved, and she was glad it had ended the way it did. I would suggest it wasn't her story at all, but I knew how spineless she could be when the public attention was focused her way.

Miss Millicent Bulstrode had not released a story, for she was killed during the Battle of Hogwarts, whilst with myself and Miss Davis as we tried to get out of the school, when a section of the roof caved in on us. The two of us managed to get strong enough shield charms up to protect ourselves, but Miss Bulstrode was not quick enough. Miss Davis knew something of Healing Spells, but was not able to revive our friend.

I digress. Yet again. I would give another apology but I am sure many of you readers are eating up the little snippets I have offered you of my story and will not complain too loudly.

Mrs. Potter offered her thoughts of me finally realising what a rude, insufferable girl I was, and was now protecting the world from my horridness by hiding away. Miss Granger followed with the opinion that I perhaps found myself to not fit in with the new world, or perhaps was ashamed of my role in hindering its' glory.

I found the need to excuse myself not long after this conversation ended, and offered the petty excuse of a stomach ache, and the need to return home before my innkeeper closed the building for the night. I think they saw right through my lie, as I had been out with them several nights, and often for much later than that particular night. However, they seemed to notice I was somewhat distracted, and graciously offered me leave.

I remember that as my gaze floated around the table, my eyes met Mr. Malfoy's for but a moment, and he seemed to look right through my disguise, but I left before he could say anything.

A few days later, whilst out in my Pansy form to quieten rumours of any disappearance of mine, I had my first run in with an aspiring journalist from the Quibbler, which by that point had become a major newspaper, though it still had sections of invisible fleas and fictional ancient runes that could tell one's fortune if they could successfully translate it.

The scrawny youth turned out to be Mr. Dennis Creevey. I'm sure that, had his brother Mr. Colin Creevey survived the war, there would have been both the Creevey brothers hassling me that day, with one taking notes and the other flashing his camera.

Mr. Creevey offered to help get myself into the public eye and run a short, non-detailed version of events, to test the reactions of others and possibly do a follow up story on what I had been doing since I finished school. I declined good-naturedly, and quickly disappeared into the crowd, a skill I have found myself to be very capable of even without a physical disguise.

I stopped by an Apothecary in Knockturn Alley to secure some ingredients for a weed-killer, as my rose bushes were currently being strangled to death by the magical weed, Dorian's Snare. After buying what I needed and a small box that I found quite handsome in appearance, I left and headed back to Diagon Alley where I made a quick stop at Flourish and Blotts.

I had only intended to look in a section upstairs where magical gardening books are found, when I ran into none other than Mr. Malfoy. I did not notice him at first, but whilst intently reading the introduction to one book (after first assuring the man beneath the title that I only wished to see if it contained information on roses, and not to read the entire book without paying for it and have to suffer his wrath).

I noticed out of the corner of my eye a man standing at the end of the isle who was watching me. I had intended to covertly look up to see who it was, and may or may not have uttered a soft scream upon identifying the man.

He gave me a levelled look before coming over and enquiring my health. I gave him an affirmative "very well, thank you," and attempted to put the book away and leave but he grasped my wrist and led me further into the book store where fewer patrons investigated the contents of the shelves. One needn't be surprised, for a glance at one book gave me the title "Indoor Renovations – A Do-It-Yourself Guide to Muggle Carpentry".

I will not give you the details of the following conversation, save that he was worried about my well-being after I appeared to have shut myself away for the best part of a year, and requested my company at the Manor for dinner that evening with the two Greengrass sisters.

I had to decline for I was otherwise engaged that night with Miss Granger who invited me to help her babysit Victoire Weasley and her siblings whilst her parents went out for dinner, and Little Teddy Lupin was to make an appearance, too. Of course, I couldn't tell Mr. Malfoy that. He was adamant I come along, but eventually settled for another night in three days time.

...

Please send thoughts to the Quibbler Office in Diagon Alley, all owl post to be directed through the third floor window.

All Howler's merit reply. Consider yourselves warned.

The views expressed throughout this article are the views of the author and not necessarily those of the Quibbler itself.

Pansy Parkinson's tell-all story will continue in next Monday's Quibbler.

Until then; don't forget to check your house for ashwinders! A daily check might save your home.

...

_**A/N:** Tada! Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you thought with a magical review!_

_And don't be scared by the howl "All howlers merit a reply" I'm just trying to go for an actual newspaper setting, I shan't bite your head off if you leave a you-know-what ;)_

_Have a nice day / morning / evening / ungodlyhourofthenight :)_


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